


Maybe

by aprettysmalldose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Derek Hale, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Nogitsune Trauma, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post Season 4, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprettysmalldose/pseuds/aprettysmalldose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 3 am. Derek was actually sleeping for once. If this is another one of these 'world is ending' 'people are dying' moments, Derek is going to - but no, it's Stiles. Fuck. He takes it back. Give him one of those 'world is ending' scenarios. Those he can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BroodingSoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroodingSoul/gifts).



> For [Joshfish](http://broodingsoul.tumblr.com/) and beta'd by [Joshfish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BroodingSoul/pseuds/BroodingSoul/) :3

"Stiles," Derek says, exercising all of the tolerance he possesses. Which is to say, none. No tolerance. At all. "Why are you in my loft at 3 in the morning?"

 

There is a moment where Stiles looks exactly like he should, framed in the harsh glow of the refrigerator light, guilty and caught and uniquely Stiles. Then he blinks and says, "I'm not Stiles, I'm the nogitsune. I'm plotting against you. That's why I'm here. At 3 in the morning....raiding your fridge." He tries to smirk like the bastard that the nogitsune was but all he manages to do is look like he's too clever for his own good.

 

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles, clearly saying, 'really?' without speaking at all.

 

Stiles winces a little and asks, "Too soon?"

 

"Try if you can," Derek drawls, "to imagine Scott's 'disappointed in you Stiles' puppy dog eyes right now."

 

Stiles grimaces and says, "Ooh, low blow."

 

They stand in silence for a while, Stiles letting the refrigeration continue to seep out through the open door, and Derek regarding him impassively, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look more intimidating than he feels. His hair is most likely sticking up everywhere and his bare feet are peeking out from the cuffs of his oversized sweatpants, so he needs every little bit he can get.

 

When it becomes obvious that Stiles isn't actually planning on saying anything more, Derek barks out, "Stiles!"

 

Stiles jumps, apparently startled out of some reverie, and yelps, "What?" defensively. The refrigerator door falls closed, finally free from Stiles’ grasp.

 

"What," Derek grits out, "are you doing in my loft at 3 am?" If he sounds slightly unhinged by the end of it, it’s only because all of his interactions with Stiles go like this. Derek's given up on trying to analyze why. Only unnecessary headaches and most likely madness lie down that road.

 

Derek is sure that Stiles is gearing himself up to feed Derek another bullshit answer, but then his expression shifts and he hits Derek with the truth.

 

"I woke up and I was alone."

 

Derek swallows, and now his arms are crossed in front of him not, because he's trying to show Stiles he means business, but because he feels like he needs something to hold on to.  

 

“My dad had to go out on call, and I was all alone.”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath, and Derek doesn't let himself break eye contact as it all just...pours out of Stiles.

 

"I couldn't go to Scott's, because I haven't wrangled a key for their new locks and security system yet, and they're doing that thing where Scott's dad stays over in the guest bedroom, so if I tried to sneak in, I’d probably get shot."

 

Stiles fidgets under Derek’s gaze, but steels himself and continues on.

 

"It would be about 10 billion kinds of awkward if I showed up at Kira's house, considering the whole nogitsune thing, never mind that we don't really have that kind of relationship."

 

Derek feels himself start to shift closer, drawn in by...he's not sure what, but he feels drawn in, and right now he doesn't feel like fighting it, fighting against Stiles'...everything.

 

Stiles' hands run distractedly through his hair, agitation showing as he barrels through the next, "I can't just show up in Lydia's room, like, you know what that might do to her? She still can't look at me without seeing--without _remembering_ what I-"

 

Derek opens his mouth to correct but Stiles beats him too it, sounding stubborn; arguing with himself. Derek knows that circumstance well.

 

"...What the _nogitsune_ did to her."

 

Derek is both surprised and yet not surprised to see he's moved even closer to where Stiles is, the space of separation between them now minimal.

 

Stiles stills, hands falling down to his sides and meets Derek’s gaze, a defeated slump to his shoulders. “And,” he swallows, “Allison is...is gone.” He shudders, but then squares his shoulders up, pushing the grief away.

 

"And that's it," he says softly. "That's all there is, except for you. I figured I could be quiet and stealthy and all, and you wouldn't even have to know, and I would be alright down here by myself because I wouldn't be alone, not technically, and I'd know that, and everything would be okay, but I got bored, because I didn't bring anything and...well...here we are."

 

"Here we are," Derek finds himself repeating softly.

 

Here they are, indeed. In this moment, they are a three-fold destiny all their own. What he wants, what Stiles needs, what the two of them are.

 

And if this moment were almost any other, he would say that all those three where the same. He’s sure there had been reasons why they weren’t, why they couldn’t be, before he left. But he came back, and suddenly, it’s like those reasons didn’t come back with him. But this moment is not any other. In this moment, what Stiles needs must rise above the other two.

 

He returns his focus to Stiles, whose breathing has become somewhat shallow with his gaze fixed on Derek's mouth. Stiles licks his lips and Derek feels his own part in response.

 

"Are we having a moment here?" Stiles asks faintly, even as he steps forward.

 

"I don’t know, are we?" Derek asks. Who’s an asshole? Him? Never.

 

Derek's arms have uncrossed at some point, and there's an electricity in the air. It makes his cock hang heavy between his legs, and desire pool and coil low in his gut. He wants Stiles, (has wanted him), wants his mouth and his fingers, his tongue and his cum.

 

 _What Stiles needs_ , he reminds himself, and takes no steps of his own.

 

He waits, and Stiles takes one more step forward and then they're pressed chest to chest, touching and not touching. They're of a height now, and it irks Derek a little to realize that Stiles is going to surpass him any week now.

 

"Fuck it," Stiles whispers, pupils dilated and the smell of want coming off of him. It smells heavy to Derek, like just before a storm and it makes him want to drown himself in it. He deliberately inhales and breathes more of it in and Stiles shifts, and Derek’s gaze is drawn to the expanse of his chest. Derek realizes suddenly that Stiles' shoulders are just as broad as his now. His dick twitches in his pants and the scent of his own want has become strong enough that he notices it, coming together in the air and mixing with Stiles’, the _sex fuck rut_ of it speaking directly to Derek’s werewolf instincts.

 

Stiles' kiss, when it comes, is aggressive and skilled. One moment Derek's taking a breath in, Stiles being the sole focus of his exaggerated awareness, hyperreal almost, pale skin and dark lashes, and the next, Stiles is everywhere.

 

His mouth presses against Derek's and they both makes sounds at that, surprised and longing. Stiles' hand slides along Derek's face, thumb tracing along his jaw, fingers tangling in his hair and kneading his scalp. Stiles' other hand slides under his shirt and around his waist, and Derek shudders as he opens his mouth to Stiles' tongue.

 

Stiles is good, God he's good, and Derek's so turned on that the rush of blood down to his cock leaves him feeling light-headed and drunk.

 

 _Yes_ , Derek thinks, _fuck yes_. He slips both of his hands under Stiles' shirt, rucks it up as he strokes up Stiles' back, the feel of Stiles' smooth, warm skin under his fingers is good so good, and he pulls Stiles closer against him.

 

The length of Stiles' hard-on drags along Derek's and they break apart for a moment, a strand of saliva hanging in the air between them.

 

"Fuck," Derek hisses at the sight of Stiles' lips, swollen and spit-slick, and Stiles groans and leans back in to plunge his tongue back into Derek's mouth. Derek takes a step back, leading Stiles, who follows as they slowly entwine around each other and make their way across the floor of the loft over to the staircase, which spirals up into the dark.  

 

Derek leans back slightly to pull Stiles’ shirt off and Stiles follows suit by pulling Derek’s off and they’re pressed chest to chest, caught in the throes of the most absolutely filthy kiss Derek’s ever had in his life.

 

Stiles thrusts his tongue into Derek’s mouth, and Derek sucks unabashedly on it, the sounds they’re making dirty, so dirty, moans and pants for breath, the smack of lips and the squelch of their tongues as they lick and suck at each other.  

 

Abruptly, Derek turns to walk up the staircase, reaching a hand down to pull Stiles up after him, both stumbling several times. Stiles does his best to keep his hand on the small of Derek’s back and Derek feels _alive_.

 

“Fuck, your _ass_ ,” Stiles grunts behind him, “Jesus Christ.”

 

Derek tightens his muscles, just for Stiles, who stumbles again and curses, and then there's no more stairs. They've reached Derek's room and Derek's bed, and Stiles pushes him down on it, crawls over him and Derek's cock hardens up even more at that feeling, until it's almost painful.  

 

"Fuck me," he gasps, tilting his head back and exposing his throat to Stiles, who leans down to suck a bruise into it, scraping his teeth along the tendon of Derek's neck.

 

“Yes,” Stiles whispers, his breath hot in Derek’s ear. “Fuck you, yes.” He ruts down against Derek and then they’re both thrusting against each other, cocks dragging together through the thin fabric of the sweatpants they’re both wearing.

 

It feels good, liquid heat down Derek’s spine, sparks behind his eyes, he wants more, wants it, wants.

 

“Come on, come on,” he grunts and reaches down to yank his sweatpants off, and Stiles gets tangled up in his haste to follow suit. Derek smirks, and Stiles promises, “I’m gonna wipe that smirk off your face,” as he reaches a hand down to wrap a fist around both their cocks. Derek’s mind is wiped clean at the feel of the flesh of Stiles’ cock against his own, Stiles’ hand around them both.

 

Stiles rocks against him, lazily jerking them off in a smooth practiced rhythm that makes Derek’s eyes want to roll back into his head. He props himself up on his elbows, panting as he watches the head of his cock, pressed against Stiles’, disappearing in and out of Stiles’ grip. precum is leaking out from both their slits now, the glide of their dicks together becoming slick and hot, the best kind of feeling.

 

Stiles’ hips speed up, faster, like he means business for a moment, and then he pulls back with a curse.

 

“Fuck, where’s your-”

 

Derek doesn’t even let him finish before jerking his head off to the side to his nightstand as he gasps, “There, in there, top drawer.”

 

Stiles has to release his grip on their cocks as he fumbles through the drawer, and Derek fists his hands in his sheets in frustration. Stiles gets a hand on the tube, pops the cap, squeezes a generous amount on his fingers, then pauses.

 

“I’ve never fingered someone open before,” he says with a nervous swallow.

 

“You’ll do fine,” Derek says as he spreads his legs open and tilts his hips up. “Here, let me…” Derek trails off as he reaches up to grab Stiles’ wrist and guide his fingers down to Derek’s hole.

 

Stiles’ breaths are coming in pants now, and as Derek manipulates Stiles’ hand to circle his slicked up fingers around the pucker of Derek’s asshole, he’s not far behind. After a few moments of teasing and massaging that are nowhere near to being enough of what Derek wants, he relaxes his grip on Stiles’ wrist, giving him room to fly solo.

 

“Slide your middle finger inside me,” Derek whispers, breathless now with anticipation.

 

Stiles obeys with a bitten back groan, and the feel of his long finger sliding inside Derek is like the culmination of years of longing; a reward that he doesn’t deserve, a victory that he hasn’t won.

 

A ‘yes’ hisses out from between his teeth, and his hand falls limply down to the bed beside his leg.

 

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles whispers, his face flushed and his gaze rapt on Derek.

 

Derek lets himself collapse back on the bed, off of his elbows, and sighs at the ‘more want more want more’ feeling rushing through his veins. “Index finger,” he says, and a moment later Stiles complies with a grunt, and then there’s two of Stiles’ fingers inside Derek.

 

He can feel the stretch now, but he wants the burn. “Three, three fingers,” he gasps, and tilts his head back further, pressing himself down onto his pillow.

 

Stiles pulls out for a moment, and Derek can here the squirt of more lube, then three fingers press inside him, and he lets his eyes shutter closed and his mouth fall open.

 

“Like this?” Stiles whispers.

 

“Yes.” Derek sighs, “Just like that, fuck me open.”

 

“Oh God,” Stiles groans, and he works Derek open, thrusting with his fingers until all Derek can feel is liquid and heat and desire. Derek’s cock is hard and twitching, curved up against his stomach, and he’s ready, so ready.

 

“Ready,” he gasps.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles groans, and Derek has to squeeze his eyes shut, like doing so can shut out the absolutely obscene sound of Stiles slicking up his dick.

 

Stiles goes still on the bed, and Derek opens his eyes to see Stiles swallow and ask, voice weak and trembling, like he’s afraid, “Do you have a condom?”

 

As a werewolf, Derek’s never had to worry about things like transmission and disease; as the younger, more inexperienced one, it must have cost Stiles a lot to ask for one. Derek could explain to him that there’s no fear of infection of any kind from a werewolf, but he senses that this is not the moment for it.

 

“In the back of that same drawer,” he says reassuringly.  

 

Stiles scrambles over to the drawer again, in his own special brand of chaos and grace; limbs and flailing.

 

Derek watches with anticipation that leaves his whole body feeling light and powerless as Stiles fumbles a little, then slides the condom onto his cock, so fat and flush with blood it makes Derek’s mouth water.

 

Stiles shifts forward on the bed, and Derek makes a low, needy sound in the back of his throat. Stiles angles his hips forward and guides the tip of his cock until it’s just pressing at Derek’s hole, which twitches open and closed with need at the feel of it.

 

Stiles pauses and looks down at Derek, his gaze making Derek feel bare and naked, flesh defenseless, in a way that physically being naked has never made him feel.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Stiles whispers, with sweat glistening down his neck and chest, lips bruised and swollen, and body taut with desire. ‘You’re the beautiful one,’ Derek wants to say, but can’t, as Stiles nudges the head of his cock forward, into Derek’s waiting hole, and he has to fling his head back and gasp for breath at the feeling of it.

 

Slowly, bit by torturous bit, Stiles slides his dick inside of Derek’s ass, and Derek feels _all_ of it; being pierced and taken and the glorious breaching _fuck_ of it. The crescent moon is high and distant through the window, and Derek wants to howl at it, ‘look at me, see how I am,’ the way Scott, bitten late in life, may never be able to feel.

 

Stiles is braced over Derek, arms trembling with effort, his balls flush against Derek’s ass, mouth an ‘o’ of want, sex, and _taking_.

 

Derek remembers how that felt. His first time, as ruinous as it was, couldn’t dull that indescribable sensation of _being inside_ ; that _slick hot wet_ fulfillment. Derek flatters himself that this, Stiles’ first time, might manage to clear _his_ first time, low enough bar that it was. Derek would, at the very least, be able to smell if Stiles felt even the slightest bit of _sick_ or _wrong_.

 

But then Stiles slowly pulls out and thrusts back inside of Derek, and his mind devolves into baser thoughts of _sex_ and _want_ and _need_.

 

The slow slide of Stiles’ cock in and out of Derek, (who can’t help but watch, enraptured), as the head of it disappears, the length of it feeding inside of him, (thick and full and _fucked_ ) and then watching it slip back out; that feeling in reverse. Stiles is inexorable and thorough and apparently, a fucking natural. Derek shifts up so he can see better, and then he flicks his eyes up for a moment to Stiles’ face, and becomes caught up in watching Stiles’ expression as he fucks him. All wonderment and open-mouthed desire.

 

Then Stiles looks up and meets Derek’s eyes and neither of them look away. Abruptly Stiles’ next thrust into Derek is _hard_ , and Stiles’ expression is almost surprised; at the feeling, or at his action, or maybe both. Derek cries out, (at the feeling, at Stiles’ expression, maybe both) and no one ever has wrung a sound like that out of him before.

 

Stiles repeats the movement and Derek makes another noise, a sound that is literally fucked out of him, and he wants to have to keep making these noises forever, he had no idea he could even make those kinds of sounds. Stiles sits up, grabs Derek firmly around the hips (a grip that is almost surprising in its strength) and fucking starts _pounding_ into him and God it’s good and good and so good. Did Derek ever think it might be this good? He can’t remember.

 

It’s about the best fuck that Derek’s ever had (it feels so _good_ and it’s _Stiles_ ) but it’s not going to last long, not at this pace. Stiles uses his grip on Derek’s hips to pull him up and forward, and Derek has to brace himself up on his elbows, urging into the _fuck fuck fuck_ of Stiles’ cock slamming into him.  He wants to cum, wants to cum now, muscles straining, his cock slapping against his stomach and smearing pre cum around. Wants to cum while Stiles is inside him, wants to cum while he’s still being fucked, but he’s not in a good position. Then (like he’s inside Derek’s head) Stiles shifts his grip again, leaning down into Derek and wrapping an arm around his waist, supporting his hips (when did Stiles get so _strong_ , _fuck_ ) freeing up his other arm to jerk Derek off.

 

Derek feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to feel Stiles’ hand on his cock and dick in his ass, (and is this more than sex? Is it? If it is then Derek is screwed).

 

Derek angles his hips up even more, reaching for it straining for it with Stiles is so deep inside him, it feels like he’s _buried_ there. Then one of Stiles’ thrusts hits his prostate and it’s like the snap of a bone, except with ecstasy instead of pain. “There,” Derek shouts, and he can feel the effort in Stiles’ muscles as he searches, searches and then again, “Yes,” Derek cries.

 

And it’s not every thrust or even every other thrust, but it’s enough so that suddenly, he’s cumming, brain off then on again; _bliss_. Derek flings his head back and arches up, his cock jerking wildly in Stiles’ grip, cum landing on his chest in hot jets, and Derek has never felt so erotic; so charged. It sends Stiles over the edge and he cums with a groan and a sigh inside Derek, hips working, fucking both of them through it on instinct.

 

The moments after are soft and silent, Stiles pulling out and after a few tries, tying off the condom and flinging it into Derek’s trash with just the barest little, ‘ha’, of victory. He collapses down on his back beside Derek, one leg thrown over Derek’s waist (only Stiles could make something so awkward be so comfortable).

 

Derek’s riding an afterglow like the rings of Saturn, and this moment, everything is perfection.

 

Derek isn’t sure how long they’ve lain there in silence, sharing that space of two people who were just recently one, when Stiles speaks, startling him out of whatever space he was wandering.

 

“Are you freaking out?”

 

“No.” Derek answers calmly. “You?”

 

“No.”

 

Derek lets the silence build up for a few minutes then (he can’t help himself he has to say), “Good, because I want you to fuck me again.”

 

“Oh thank God I'm like so ready to go over here I can't even,” Stiles groans then rolls on top of him. Derek shifts around underneath him until he’s on his stomach.

 

“Like this,” Derek gasps, arm reaching out and fumbling at his drawer (cheating a little and using claws) to grasp another of his squirreled away condoms.

 

“Yes,” Stiles hisses, and Derek can hear the squirt of yet more lube (Derek is absolutely _filthy_ ) Stiles gets the condom on much quicker this time, and then he's sliding inside of Derek again, a sweet ache. Derek has to give a groan, long and drawn out; full with it.

 

Then there's nothing but the fuck, Stiles thrusting in and out of him and gasping, Derek gasping too, wanting this, needing it, needing to be nothing but a body. A body that can still do this, still feel this. Still have someone ( _precious_?) lay kisses along his back and shoulders; wrap a reverent hand around his cock, (“God Derek you’re so, _fuck_.”)

 

 _Maybe_ , Derek finds himself thinking, as he arches his back into it, reveling, eyes closed against the bright lights of sensation, _maybe_.  

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> TO 'ZE [TUMBLR!](http://rizuno.tumblr.com/)


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